


How to Save the World 101

by Jetainia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley are Adam Young's Parents, Blanket Permission, Don't copy to another site, Fluff, Hell, M/M, Other, emotional torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 09:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19765771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: Crowley doesn't take the antichrist to the nuns at St Beryls. Instead, he takes the child to a bookshop in Soho.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for this chapter: Brief considerations of child murder

Freddie Mercury sang softly in the background as Crowley tightened and relaxed his grip on the steering wheel of the Bentley. A basket sat on the back seat innocuously, as though it didn’t contain the being that would inevitably bring about the destruction of a world Crowley rather liked. The demon cursed as he thought of the basket and its contents.

He knew his orders—had received them in the same brutal way Hell always sent orders—yet his mind was racing through ways of _not following them_. He was sure he could find a lake to sink the basket in, or a cliff to throw it off of. He might even get away with it. Of course, they would know eventually. If nothing happened in eleven years, he would face the consequences.

Crowley twisted in his seat to stare at the basket. He could either follow orders and have the world end in eleven years, or think of a way that could convince the contents of the basket that really, the Earth shouldn’t end in fire and flame and should instead be able to continue along on its merry journey with Crowley in one piece on it.

His eyes caught on a biscuit tin. It had probably been there for several years, forgotten about by its owner and never noticed by him. The tin was covered in a tartan pattern and even as a disgusted expression crossed the demon’s face it was softened by the look of exasperated fondness that always appeared when the demon thought of a certain angel.

It was like a message from Hell—sudden and headache inducing. An idea sprung fully formed in his mind and Crowley grinned as he put the Bentley into gear and drove away from the graveyard that had recently held three demons and the antichrist towards a bookshop that rarely sold books. Aziraphale had been somehow influencing Crowley to be a worse demon for millennia; surely he’d be able to do the same with the antichrist.

* * *

Aziraphale had come to expect ridiculous things from Crowley over the course of their arrangement but as he stared at the demon desperately clutching a wicker basket, he thought this might be more ridiculous than all the other occasions put together. Crowley was shifting from side to side, nervous but determined and Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the demon who had decided to go against Hell for the Earth.

“You know, when I was told you were involved with this, I didn’t think they meant you’d be coming here and asking me to help raise the antichrist,” he said.

Crowley reeled back in shock. “ _Help_? _I’m_ not going to raise it! I’m a demon, I’d just end up convincing it to follow Hell somehow!”

“Now, Crowley, really. You’re the one who’s here, going against Hell’s orders in order to _save_ the Earth. I think you’d be a marvellous influence on the child. And I’m certainly not raising the antichrist by myself.”

“But you’ll do it?” Crowley asked, stepping closer to Aziraphale as hope bloomed across his face.

Aziraphale sighed, wondering if he could ever truly say no to Crowley even if the demon wasn’t trying to be tempting, and nodded. “Yes, yes, I’ll do it. I will _help_ ,” he placed extra emphasis on the word ‘help’ just so Crowley knew he wasn’t getting out of raising the antichrist, “you raise them.”

He had to dash forward a few steps to catch Crowley and the basket as Crowley started collapsing to the ground. He took the basket away from the demon and placed it to the side. The child would survive another few minutes by themselves and Crowley was currently more important. The demon was clutching at Aziraphale’s jacket, trembling as he muttered words a demon should never say. Aziraphale tugged him close and held him.

Eventually Crowley pulled away, straightening himself out and becoming a suave demon once more. He cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “Well, guess I should go deliver a fake antichrist.”

“I guess you should,” Aziraphale murmured, slightly missing the weight of Crowley in his arms but happy to see him pull himself together. “We’ll be here when you get back. Be safe.”

Crowley gave a weak smirk. “I’m a demon, Aziraphale, I’m never safe.”

He was gone before Aziraphale could respond and the roar of the Bentley was heard a moment later. Aziraphale sighed and turned to the wicker basket that held the antichrist—the child destined to start the war between Heaven and Hell.

The boy grinned up at him when the angel opened the basket. Pudgy hands waved in the air, trying to reach Aziraphale but failing miserably. The angel sighed again and picked the baby up, bouncing slightly as he made his way to the back room.

“You’d better not destroy any of my books,” Aziraphale said sternly as his bookshop suddenly found itself rearranging into a more child-friendly space and growing ever so slightly to include a bedroom it had never needed before.

* * *

The next day, anyone who entered A. Z. Fell and Co’s bookshop and wasn’t immediately filled with an urge to leave would see two men discussing the end of the world and how to raise a baby as said baby giggled and played with a pair of dark sunglasses he had stolen from the taller of the men. If anyone asked, they would be told that the men had adopted the child and were planning on teaching him all the joys of the Earth—the asker need not know this was because the men wanted the child to like the Earth and think it worth keeping around in eleven years’ time.

The bookshop surprised itself by growing yet more rooms it had never required. It now held a plant room, a kitchen, a playroom, another bedroom, and a library for books small sticky fingers could grab without sending an angel into a dithering mess, along with all the rooms it had held before. It was quite shocked at the continuing presence of more than one being as well, most visitors left within thirty minutes of arriving.

Adam—it had been the first name to come into Aziraphale’s mind and Crowley had snorted in amusement before agreeing that it was a perfectly fine name and if it meant he could go to sleep quicker and forget the whole situation for a few hours, he was all for it—darted around the bookstore and learned of the world with wonder. He was an avid reader and often sat next to his angelic caretaker reading a book about a hungry caterpillar with the same intense scrutiny Aziraphale gave his own books.

He also loved plants and had his very own corner to look after in his demonic caretaker’s plant room—although he didn’t threaten his plants, which both Aziraphale _and_ Crowley took as a good sign (they didn’t know about the whispered threats Adam gave his plants when they weren’t there, the boy was in awe of Crowley’s hissed threats but thought he could never be as cool as him and so threatened in secret).

When he was ten, his fathers sat him down to Talk. It was a very strange Talk, Adam had never considered ending the world and even if he had, he was just a kid. But nevertheless, he listened carefully and nodded in what seemed to be the right places and then promptly forgot all about it. It wasn’t as though he’d ever face a situation where a giant dog with glowing eyes approached him or people tried to force him into starting a war. He figured his fathers had read too many books about such things and for some reason thought they were real despite telling him the opposite many times.

The day of his eleventh birthday, his fathers hovered near him constantly. They were always sort of hovering, just far enough away that he could be free but always there if he needed them, but this was not like that. He stared at them as they stared back, Aziraphale wringing his hands together and Crowley trying to stop the frantic movements of Aziraphale while also flicking his tongue out every other second like a snake.

When the large dog with glowing eyes appeared before him, Adam stared in wonder. The dog growled low as it lowered its head to look at Adam. Adam hesitantly held out his hand and grinned when the dog allowed him to pet its nose. He glanced back at his fathers who were seemingly stopping each other from approaching him and the dog.

“Do you…uh, want to name it?” Crowley asked, uncovered eyes flicking from Adam to the dog.

Adam—who had recently read a rather good comic book about a man with a dog that refused to even let the man say his real name and instead was simply called Dog—grinned. “Dog,” he proclaimed. “His name is Dog.”

There was a loud popping sound and the nose he was still patting suddenly disappeared as the large hound with glowing eyes became a small dog with brown eyes. “Dog,” Aziraphale managed to stammer out as he stared at the hellhound. “A nice, harmless name.”

“Did you get him for me?” Adam asked, kneeling down and rubbing Dog’s belly.

“I suppose you could say that,” Crowley replied, looking rather like he wanted to go to bed and have one of his famous naps that lasted a day or more (Adam often wished Aziraphale would let him copy Crowley but his father always refused). “My people, you know.”

Adam didn’t know, but that was alright. He had a dog and he was eleven now; he’d be able to sleep for days like his father soon, Aziraphale always said he’d be allowed when he was older (never mind that when Aziraphale said this he was thinking of several thousand years old as opposed to several decades). As Adam patted the soft belly of Dog, he remembered the Talk he had been given a year ago.

“Does this mean the end of the world is coming?” he asked in the way children do when they’ve had a sudden thought and don’t realise what voicing that thought might do to those around them.

There was a thump as Crowley sat down on the couch rather hurriedly and a crash as the cup of tea Aziraphale had deemed safe to pick up now the worst was over fell out of his hands and onto the floor.

“I… Well, that is… You must understand…”

“Yes.” The word was monotone and devoid of all emotion. It was so out of character for Crowley that Adam twisted to look at him.

His father was sitting on the couch and staring morosely ahead, to where a few green leaves were visible from the plant room. Adam had never seen his dad like this before, it was always carefully hidden away from the young child and only shown during late nights over a cup of cocoa and with an angel softly rubbing the demon’s back. Adam looked at Dog, Dog looked back expectantly, waiting for more belly rubs.

The boy picked up Dog and carried him over to his father where he plonked the animal on his dad’s lap and proceeded to curl up next to him. Crowley stared in silent horror at the hellhound that was now nosing at his fingers and demanding pats; he jumped slightly as small fingers gripped his and guided them down onto the dog.

Adam smiled at him. “It’ll be okay. I’ll stop it.”

* * *

There was a witchfinder’s army headquarters above a convenience store in London. A man inside the headquarters was looking at newspaper clippings and realising that the city he lived in always seemed to have the same weather every year. He thought that rather odd but his superior told him that it was nothing and to focus on witch-caused phenomenon only.

An occultist squinted at her map of ley lines once more as she tried to locate the great beast that would end the world, never realising that the boy who had sat on a stool and grinned at her as she tried to find helpful books in a rare book store was the beast she was searching for.

A door to a bookshop that was rarely open suddenly found itself letting in four strangers, their motorbikes parked neatly next to an old Bentley parked rather haphazardly and without care for other road users or painted strips of colour on the bitumen. The small tinkle of the bell above the door and the barking of Dog alerted the three occupants of the bookshop that someone had arrived.

A young boy was the first to emerge from the back room, quickly followed by an angel and a demon—both trying desperately to catch the boy and drag him back to relative safety. Adam, feeling slightly guilty, ignored the efforts of his parents and kept them away. He looked at the four who had arrived.

Each of them was clad in a single colour, one in red, one in white, and two in black. He nodded at them. “You’re not going to start it,” he told them. “That’s why you’re here instead of wherever you meant to go. I don’t want the world to end.”

“Your very existence demands it,” the one he knew was Death said.

Adam shook his head. “No it doesn’t, because I have free will. I’ve been taught about free will and I know I have it because I’ve done things I’ve been told not to, and things I’ve haven’t been told either way. I get to make a choice and I choose not to end the world.”

The four newcomers looked at each other uncertainly. They had been planning the destruction of the world since they had been created but they couldn’t do it if they weren’t given the go ahead by the one destined to start it all. As one, they stepped back and faded away, only an echoing statement of always being in the shadows remaining before that too, vanished.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other in much the same way as the Four Horsepersons had. Adam turned to them and smiled hesitantly. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked.

In answer, Aziraphale opened his arms and Adam leapt into them with a grin. Crowley wrapped his own arms around Aziraphale and Adam but didn’t relax. He knew there would be consequences. Heaven and Hell would still want their war.

Dog growled in warning and Crowley quickly stepped in front of Aziraphale and Adam, shielding them from sight as Beelzebub rose from Hell. He didn’t quite know what he was going to do, but he was very good at tempting people to do what they had previously had no plans of doing. The only problems were that Beelzebub was soon followed by Gabriel descending from Heaven and Aziraphale deciding to step out from behind Crowley and stand next to him where Crowley couldn’t protect him as easily. At least the angel had shifted Adam so the boy was between them and held securely in Aziraphale’s arms.

Beelzebub sneered. “I should’ve known it would be you, _Crowley_. You never were a very good demon. What sort of a demon thinks gluing coins to the pavement is a good plan to get souls to Hell?”

Gabriel was staring in slight disgust at Aziraphale—particularly the parts of Aziraphale that were holding Adam safe and brushing against Crowley. “I know you’re weirdly attached to this place, Aziraphale but this has gone too far. Armageddon must happen and I won’t allow you to meddle with the Great Plan.”

“He’s not meddling with the Great Plan!” Adam burst out, staring wide-eyed at the two strangers who had appeared out of nowhere and immediately started berating his parents. “I’m the one making the choice and I say the world stays like it is.”

“Why you disobedient little—” Beelzebub’s infuriated buzzing was interrupted by Gabriel.

“Child, while I’m sure this is all fun and games to you, we need to fight a war and we can’t do that until you start it.”

“You both want to fight a war that’s going to destroy a whole planet and all you care about is seeing who comes out on top. That’s not how you’re supposed to settle arguments.” With all the knowledge and confidence of a child who is much smarter than the adults surrounding them, Adam proceeded to explain in great detail that to settle arguments one needed to read a few books, threaten a few plants, come together over a cup of cocoa with a little bit extra and admit that whoever was right was right.

If he wasn’t the antichrist, it was highly likely Adam would no longer exist after lecturing the Lord of the Flies and an Archangel. But he was, so he did, and the two left with pops and a buzzed threat of telling Adam’s father—to which Adam crinkled his nose in confusion, he had another father? He already had two of them, why did he need a third and where had he been for all his life?

“We’re doomed,” Crowley said into the silence of the bookshop.

Adam looked at him. “But I fixed it, didn’t I?”

“Beelzebub’s going to tell Lucifer, he won’t be happy I disobeyed Hell’s orders. And there’s nothing I can do against him.”

“Did you do something really bad?” Adam asked even as Crowley grimaced and grabbed onto Aziraphale for support as the presence of the Morningstar started filling the bookshop.

Crowley huffed a laugh out through gritted teeth, brushing Adam’s hair back with a shaking hand as he kissed the boy’s forehead. “I kept you instead of handing you over to a bunch of nuns. I taught you to love the world instead of telling you to destroy it. I asked an angel to help me do it. Yeah, I did something really bad, I decided you weren’t going to be a weapon if I could help it.”

“That doesn’t sound bad to me,” Adam said, worming his way out of Aziraphale’s arms and into Crowley’s. “That sounds like something a father _should_ do.”

“Adam,” Aziraphale said, ignoring the impending arrival of Lucifer for now, “we’re not _really_ your fathers.”

Adam glared at Aziraphale. “Yes, you are! You raised me and loved me and taught me how to read and look after plants and all that stuff. That’s what fathers do, and that’s what you did, so you’re both _really_ my dads. That’s how it works, and Lucifer isn’t my father because he didn’t do any of that and is only coming to talk to me now because I didn’t do what he wanted me to.

“ _He’s_ not really my father because he wasn’t there when I fell out of that apple tree or when I was chased by ducks. He doesn’t tuck me in at night or read me a bedtime story, and he doesn’t give me hot cocoa when I’ve had a bad day. He definitely hasn’t asked me how I’m doing at school or scared away the bullies.”

As Adam spoke, the presence of the Morningstar faded, as if Lucifer had quite forgotten why he needed to appear in a bookshop in Soho in the first place when there was absolutely nothing there for him to do. He certainly didn’t have a son to scold; he didn’t have a son in the first place, let alone one he needed to scold.

* * *

The next day, nothing and everything had changed. The world continued as it always had, its people never knowing just how close they had come to being destroyed as Heaven and Hell fought. In a small bookshop that didn’t sell books, an angel, a demon, and an antichrist sat on a sofa together and drank cocoa.

Adam was asking all the questions he’d never been allowed to ask before, as well as the ones he didn’t know existed. He had known, of course, that his parents called each other angel and demon but he hadn’t known that the names were literal. Crowley’s eyes were finally explained properly to him (and they were even cooler now that he knew they were remnants of the snake his dad had been).

Dog was curled on Adam’s lap, eyes closed in pleasure as Adam ran his hands over his small body. Crowley was seated on Aziraphale’s lap, head resting on the angel’s shoulder as he drifted in and out of sleep in between sips of cocoa but never truly waking. Aziraphale winked at Adam and two books decided they would be better off in the hands of the one who had last been reading them.

Adam grinned and settled in to read about four children and a dog solve mysteries together as Aziraphale did the same (although he was reading about a man who kept all his wrongs in a painting of himself and remained ever beautiful). The world had not ended, and their small family remained intact. All was well.


	2. Entering Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Emotional torture; Hell

“Hello, Crowley.”

Crowley froze at the words, hand still resting on the thin trunk of an apple tree sapling. He cursed inwardly, of course it wouldn’t all be over. The apocalypse was supposed to have been the event of the centuries and he had helped stop it from happening. Of course there were going to be demons unhappy with this turn of events that sought him out.

He plastered on a smirk and looked at the two who had decided to pay him a visit. “Hastur, Ligur, what brings you two here? Hell decided to decorate with a few plants?”

Ligur scowled and Hastur’s lip curled. “You disobeyed orders, Crowley. You didn’t deliver the antichrist like you were supposed to.”

“What can I say? I’m a demon, never very good at following orders.” Crowley tried to ignore the fact that he was gripping the apple tree as though the plant could protect him from the fury of two demons.

He had thought it safe to leave the bookshop. There had been no word from either side about the failed apocalypse since Adam had stopped it and he figured they were pretending it hadn’t happened—that Beelzebub and Gabriel hadn’t been scolded by an eleven-year-old boy. Apparently Hastur and Ligur hadn’t received the memo that Crowley would quite like to be left alone with his angel and son.

Hastur stepped towards him and Crowley instinctively took a step back, cursing the action as Hastur grinned. “If you were a proper demon, you would have followed these orders happily. We were going to rise up against Heaven, we were going to destroy the world and make every human miserable. It would have been glorious.”

Ligur had moved behind Crowley at some point and he snapped his hands forward to clamp shackles on Crowley’s wrists. Crowley flinched at the ice-cold of the manacles; the cold was never pleasant for him—yet another remnant of his first form being a snake—and he knew that Hastur and Ligur had chosen these particular manacles for that precise reason.

“Guys,” he said, trying to persuade the two demons, “are you sure you want to do this? I do have a direct line to the antichrist, you know.”

Ligur jerked the shackles and moved his face so that it was directly in front of Crowley’s and close enough that the frog on his head could reach out and touch the other demon. “The boy’ll never know,” Ligur mocked. “You think he really cares about a pathetic demon such as you?”

Crowley swallowed thickly. He hoped Adam liked him. No matter how much he had been scared of the boy or wanted nothing to do with him when he had first decided to go against Hell’s orders, he had gotten rather attached to Adam. The wide-eyed wonder the boy had shown when Crowley had first shown him the corner in the plant room that was just for Adam was one of the best things the demon had ever seen.

The quiet threats late at night after Adam had snuck out of bed to talk to his plants always made Crowley smile. But then, Adam was also quite happy to sit in silence next to Aziraphale and read. Crowley had always enjoyed the sight of the angel and the boy sitting next to each other, but what if Adam preferred that to the things he did with Crowley? What if Ligur was right?

Ligur smiled sadistically as he saw the slump in Crowley’s shoulders that meant he had won. Hastur grabbed one of Crowley’s arms roughly and the three demons left the plant nursery to return to Hell. The only sign they had even been there was the handprint burned into the trunk of an apple tree sapling.

* * *

Adam waved goodbye to his friends before jumping off the bus and walking the short way to his home. The bookshop was labelled as closed and the door was locked but found itself unlocked as Adam approached. His father looked up as he entered and smiled, closed the book he had been examining and headed into the kitchen.

Adam ran into his room to dump his school bag and then raced into the kitchen where he knew his angelic father would have some kind of treat for him. Sure enough, there was a plate of oatmeal biscuits sitting next to a steaming cup of cocoa on the table when he entered. His father was already sitting at the table, sipping his own cocoa and waiting patiently.

This was their routine, and it had been ever since Adam had started going to school. They would sit and have a drink with some kind of snack as Adam told his fathers everything that had happened that day. Adam slipped into his chair and looked around for his other dad. Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “He’s gone to the nursery to find some more plants; he should be back soon. Though knowing him, he may not return for a day.”

Adam nodded; he did know what his demonic father was like. He almost wished he hadn’t had to go to school that day so he could have accompanied Crowley instead. Adam liked going to the nursery and it was awesome seeing his father at work with the plants (they always left the nursery more terrified than it had been before).

He told Aziraphale a little about his day but kept the most interesting stories for when both his fathers could be present. It always felt a bit weird only telling one parent about the happenings of the day when they were almost always both there and both extremely interested. As he talked, he couldn’t help glancing at the space Crowley would normally inhabit. He knew the demon would be back, he just wished he was here now.

The rest of the day was spent doing his homework, reading with his father, and taking care of the plants (with whispered threats that he was sure weren’t as good as his dad’s but still seemed effective). This pattern was followed for the rest of the week, with Aziraphale and Adam both growing more and more concerned about Crowley’s continued absence.

On Saturday, Adam sat at the kitchen table fiddling with his cup. “Hey, Dad?”

“Hmm?” Aziraphale shook himself slightly and looked up from the pool of cocoa in his own cup that he had been staring into. “What is it?”

“Can we go look for Pa? He’s been gone longer than usual and I know some people probably aren’t very happy with you two because you taught me not to destroy the world. What if something’s happened to him?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I had been thinking that as well.” He stood up, patted his pockets absentmindedly before gestured for Adam to follow. “Come along, let’s go see what our fiend has gotten himself into.”

Adam scrambled to follow his father as the angel strode out of the bookshop and onto the bus that had taken a detour to pick them up and would proceed on a detour to the plant nursery. The boy could hardly stop his bouncing as the bus trundled through the streets of London. It was only the comforting hand of his father in his own that kept him from leaping out of his seat and running—he was the antichrist, surely he could run faster than the bus?

The nursery was busy when they arrived with families walking around and children eagerly jumping on the trolleys or eating the treats available at the small café hidden by plants. Adam and Aziraphale ignored them; they were here to look for Crowley and that was what they were going to do.

It was Adam that found it. He had been looking at the apple trees critically and liking what he saw when he noticed one of them had a burnt bit of bark just visible. He moved closer and saw that the bark had been burnt in the shape of a hand—his father’s hand. Aziraphale hurried over when Adam beckoned and stiffened when he saw the mark.

“Demons,” he said, closing his eyes and searching for the faint traces of demonic presence. “There were three. I think… They must have taken him to Hell.”

Adam looked at the mark on the sapling, placing his own, much smaller, hand over it. “This is my fault, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Aziraphale said instantly. “This is the fault of Hell and Hell alone. Who knows what they’ve been doing to him down there, I need to get him.”

His father seemed prepared to fly down to Hell right then and there, but Adam stopped him by grabbing his hand. “ _We_ need to get him. I’m not sitting by while demons hurt Dad!”

“Adam, this is Hell we’re talking about. You’re no longer the son of Lucifer, you won’t be safe down there.”

“I don’t care, I can help. I won’t let you go alone.”

“Adam…” Aziraphale didn’t appear to know what to say after that.

Adam looked at the tree again before turning to his father. “Please, Dad, let me come. I can protect myself and I…I need to help him. I know I’m only eleven, but I _am_ the antichrist.”

Aziraphale sighed and finally nodded. He held out his arms for Adam and Adam went happily, clinging to his father’s back. “You must stay on my back at all times and keep your eyes shut,” Aziraphale told him.

“Yes, Papa.”

Adam clung tighter as white wings unfurled around him and flapped. He shut his eyes as Aziraphale lifted off the ground and dove forward into the portal that had opened next to the apple tree sapling. As soon as they entered, the happy sounds of children and parents looking at plants vanished. There was no longer the pleasant smell of green things growing.

Instead there was the smell of ash and sulphur. There was the sound of screams, bringing into Adam’s mind every horror movie he had ever caught a forbidden glimpse of. Growls not unlike the first growl Dog had uttered reverberated around them. Oppressive heat bore down on him and he pressed closer to the comforting warmth of his father.

Aziraphale didn’t pause. He had seen worse than Hell on Earth and heard stories about it from Crowley. Later, he would let himself feel the sadness and anger for Crowley having _this_ as his home and the place he was supposed to be loyal to for millennia, but for now all that mattered was getting Crowley _out_ of the horrid place.

He had one hand clutching Adam’s looped arms around his neck, the other was held in front of him ready to smite any demon that thought they could stop him. His wings shed holy light and cleared the path in front of them as he focused on the distinct feeling of _Crowley_ that kept flickering in and out of existence.

The two demons leering above Crowley when he arrived didn’t stand a chance. At the sight of his demon desperately trying to curl away from the other two demons but being forced straight by the chains and manacles while cruel words were spat out at him, all thought of angelic mercy vanished and angelic wrath emerged.

Flames appeared in the hand that wasn’t holding onto Adam, forming into a blazing sceptre as a flaming crown appeared on his head. The Principality glowered at the two demons trying to escape and lashed out with his sceptre. The fire was not the fire of Hell—something that would not harm demons. It was directly from Heaven and Hastur and Ligur stood no chance as the outraged Principality struck them down.

A broken whimper shattered the boiling rage of the Principality and the fiery sceptre and crown vanished as Aziraphale dropped down next to Crowley. The demon’s yellow eyes were screwed shut, limbs desperately trying to tug themselves closer to his body, chains clinking slightly as they refused to give.

“Dad?” Adam’s voice was shaking and Aziraphale had to suppress a groan, knowing that his son had opened his eyes.

Crowley stilled at the word before trying even harder to curl into a ball. “No, no, no, no. Don’t. Please, not him. You’ve made your point.”

“Dad!” Adam was scrambling to get off Aziraphale’s back now and to Crowley. The demon shuddered as Adam wrapped himself around Crowley in an awkward hug.

Aziraphale turned his attention to the chains that bound Crowley, stopping in horror for a moment as he realised how _cold_ they were. The enraged Principality threatened to re-emerge and carve his way through Hell for the transgressions against his demon but was pushed down by the more vital task of ridding Crowley of the manacles.

Crowley curled around Adam as soon as his limbs were free, still not opening his eyes as he whispered a litany of pleas. Adam hugged his father tightly, tears spilling over his cheeks as he realised Crowley didn’t think he was actually there. Aziraphale gathered them both up in his arms and started the journey out of Hell to the small bookshop in Soho that was home.

* * *

There was the tantalising smell of hot cocoa with no hint of ash, sulphur, or brimstone. It was quiet, almost too quiet after always hearing the screams of Hell. There was a small body wrapped in his arms and he couldn’t feel the cold of cursed shackles keeping him from curling protectively into a ball. His head was cushioned on something soft and Crowley would have burst into tears if he was able.

After so long in Hell having his own fears thrown back at him mercilessly, this dream was the best thing that could happen. He knew that somewhere beyond his subconscious Hastur and Ligur were jeering at him, and his limbs were still shackled. But now, here, in the safety of his own mind, he could pretend that he was curled up on the old couch at home with his head in Aziraphale’s lap and Adam snuggled in his arms.

The weight he was imagining to be Adam shifted in his arms and Crowley hissed, tightening his grip on the imaginary boy. He wasn’t ready to go back to the reality of Hell. He didn’t want to hear about how Adam was so much happier without such a pathetic demon as him in the boy’s life. He didn’t want to hear that Aziraphale was being commended for playing the long game and tricking a demon into trusting him.

He wanted to stay in the backroom of a bookshop in Soho with Aziraphale and Adam happy to be with him. He wanted to stay in the pretence that he was warm and not freezing in a way he hadn’t felt since being a snake and fully cold-blooded.

“Stay,” he croaked out, pleading with his delusion not to leave him.

A warm hand settled gently in his hair and started stroking through it. “Always, my dear,” came Aziraphale’s voice.

“We’re here, Dad.” That voice belonged to Adam.

Crowley tried not to relax—fearful that the dream would vanish as soon as he stopped holding onto it with all his might—but the presence of the angel and child he loved was soothing and he couldn’t help loosening his grip on Adam and uncurling a little bit. He was safe in this dream. Hastur and Ligur couldn’t reach him here.

* * *

Crowley jerked back as a wet tongue licked his face. Before he was aware of what was happening, his eyes opened and he was shoving Dog away. His hands stilled on the small body of Dog as he took in his surroundings. There were books sitting across from him with small spaceships perched in various places. Toys were scattered all over the floor and a backpack slumped against the wall opposite him.

Dog sneezed and pushed his head into Crowley’s hands, demanding attention. Crowley didn’t move. He stared at the room, at Dog, and then down at the boy he realised was curled up next to him. The curly brown hair of Adam was soft as his hand hesitantly moved through it. Dog whined softly and crawled up closer so that he was nestled below Crowley’s head.

A creak made Crowley snap his attention away from Adam and flinch back as the door to what looked like Adam’s room opened. Aziraphale slipped through the opening holding two cups of what must be cocoa. The cups fell from his hands (knowing that they should relocate to the closest flat surface instead of shattering on the floor and doing so) when he noticed Crowley eyeing him warily.

“Crowley,” the angel breathed.

Crowley said nothing. He pressed his back closer to the wall behind him as Aziraphale approached. He didn’t know what Hastur and Ligur were planning now but he knew it would hurt so much worse after they had taunted him with this.

Aziraphale hovered at the edge of the bed, his hands starting to reach out for Crowley but retreating when he flinched. The demon knew he wouldn’t be able to survive another round of torture if he gave into the desire to be comforted by the visage of the angel. He didn’t even notice that he was pulling Adam closer to him as he watched Aziraphale carefully. The angel let out a soft sigh as he looked at the child sleeping next to his father.

“He hasn’t left your side, you know,” he told Crowley softly.

Crowley’s only response was to loop his arm more securely around Adam and glare at Aziraphale.

“You’re safe, Crowley,” Aziraphale said and Crowley scoffed slightly. “We came and got you from Hell. You’re home.”

It was almost inconceivable. For days, Hastur and Ligur had been drilling it into his head that Aziraphale and Adam didn’t actually care for him. That he was the worst excuse for a demon ever. That even though he was terrible at being a proper demon, it didn’t mean an angel would want to be friends with him—an angel certainly wouldn’t _love_ him.

“No,” he said hoarsely. They wouldn’t trick him.

Aziraphale’s face became distraught and he reached out for Crowley again, hands stopping when he flinched and hovering nearby. “I promise you, Crowley, I’m not lying. I’m—I’m not trying to lull you into a false sense of security.”

“Show me your wings then.”

It was the only thing he could think of that would prove it once and for all. Demons were immeasurably proud of their wings and would never allow them to appear anything less than immaculate—even when they were pretending to be somebody else. Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in slight confusion but he did as asked.

White wings that were glorious in their messy and unkempt state unfurled and Crowley stared at them in disbelief. There were feathers askew everywhere, not enough to affect flight but enough that no demon would ever even _think_ about showing them. They glowed slightly, holy power shimmering in the individual feathers.

Crowley’s hand twitched and started inching towards the angel. “Aziraphale…” he whispered. “It’s really you?”

“Yes, I promise, Crowley. It’s really me.”

The angel turned his hand palm up and Crowley reached for it, still unsure but wishing desperately that he wasn’t dreaming. The hand was warm and Aziraphale’s grip firm and real. Crowley stared at their hands before looking up at the angel’s face.

“Aziraphale,” he repeated in wonder.

Aziraphale smiled softly as a slightly trembling hand reached out to brush Crowley’s hair back from his forehead. “Hello, my dear.”

“Dad?” asked a sleepy voice and they both looked at Adam who had woken up. The boy added his hand to the clasped hands of Aziraphale and Crowley resting on the bed before realising that Crowley’s hand was there.

He shot up and launched himself at Crowley. The demon couldn’t contain the slight fear at the sudden movement but at least Aziraphale’s hand in his stopped him from flinching. He gripped the angel’s hand tighter as he returned Adam’s hug with his free arm.

“You’re awake!” Adam said happily as he hugged Crowley.

Crowley rubbed his back and smiled at Aziraphale. “Yeah, kid, I am.”

They stayed like that for few minutes—Adam clinging to Crowley with all his might as Crowley clung to Aziraphale’s hand. It was Aziraphale who moved them, gesturing for Crowley to scoot over a little and allow him on the bed. Once they were resettled with Crowley leaning on Aziraphale and Adam in the middle with Dog, Aziraphale gestured to the cups of cocoa that had added one to their number and they disappeared from the bookshelf to reappear in their hands.

Crowley was by no means okay but he was with his family and safe and that was enough for now. He let himself smile as he rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and played with the curls on Adam’s head. Maybe, just maybe, Hastur and Ligur had been lying as they taunted him in Hell. As he sat with the small family that had been his for just over eleven years, he thought that there was a strong possibility they had been lying. They were demons, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The book that makes Adam call the hellhound Dog is real. It's a collection of comic strips called Footrot Flats by Murray Ball and is awesome.


End file.
